


Solaris

by Lasertits



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy - All Media Types
Genre: A sentinent telepathic ocean, Angst, Death of a clone -sort of, Did I warn you about the angst?, Ghost Sex, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, The Hitchhiker's Guide in the Marvel Verse, breath play, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-17 03:05:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11266629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lasertits/pseuds/Lasertits
Summary: In which Kraglin tries to take a long vacation, and someone intervenes.





	Solaris

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, which has technically fallen out of a wormhole from a different universe, and so, is almost always lethally and/or hilariously wrong, is nonetheless widely downloaded and read across the quadrant. 

This despite that the language of the original file does not exist in-universe, and so it's anyone's guess whether the galaxy's most cunning linguists have actually managed to translate it, or if they simply got drunk and made everything up. 

 

On Solaris, it says:

_"A planet-wide sentinent ocean, capable of reading the minds of visitors and exposing their most hidden desires and fears in lifelike replica. Reunite with your loved ones! Murder them without consequences! Explore your repressed sexuality! Take the wildest ride of them all, into your own subconscious!_

__

_The planet may only be accessed via a low-orbit pleasure resort, which promises a surround transparisteel view of the ocean surface, absolute discretion, and optional humane disposal of those who go insane._

__

_Visitors should beware that all manifestations are based on their own memories, and can not be removed from the station. Eating, marrying or laying eggs in a manifestation will not produce meaningful results. Swimming is strongly discouraged. Silica-based travellers may experience headaches and occasionally explode, and so are advised to take a painkiller before arrival._

__

__

_**Do. Not. Drink."**_

__

_****_

\----

 

The Guide is, of course, wrong. There's no floating luxury resort. There's nothing there but the ocean. 

It covers the entire surface, churning with almost-recognizable shapes. Kraglin steers his small planet-hopper as close as he dares to the grav pull, parks it in orbit. His ship is a sleek little thing, all white and chrome, expensive as hell. The rich club kid he stole it from has probably put the whole Corps on his trail by now. 

No matter, he's several jumps away, even though his glorified hovercar isn't made for that. 

The ocean stretches towards him in kilometre-high waves, like a curious child reaching for a toy.

Hey there, you too, he thinks. 

He has supplies for two days, all there's room for. Life support lasts three. He has disabled the comms and scrambled the ships' signature. He has a single gun, a blister pack of death pills and an arrow he can't control.

He won't be disturbed. 

\----

The first night, he can feel it rifling through his mind. It's impossibly gentle, and it sort of mumbles to itself as it works. It's not words, more like quick firework-bursts of emotion. 

How interesting! it seems to say. 

How wonderful you are! 

Every memory he has, every stupid fantasy is equally amazing. 

I'm common as dirt, he tells it, floating in a vague dream of the Eclector. I'm nobody. 

No, no! it says. 

Look at this! And this! And this! How beautiful! We have never seen anything like it! 

It flips through everything from the mundane (taking a piss) to the comforting (lying in his mother's arms, being little spoon with..) to the terrifying (first assignment, trying to hold in his crewmate's guts while her screams die off to gurgles) to the..the.. 

No, please, don't show me that, he pleads, but it's too late. It's already playing across his mind. 

He's seen it a million times by now, but this is the holo-HD, full spectrum color, remastered version and he can't look away. 

The ocean is amazed. Beautiful! it says. How fascinating death is! Grief, too! And horror! And guilt! How strange and wonderful! It lingers lovingly over every detail. 

Wake up, wake up, wake up, he thinks, frantic. Oh by the Worldmind, let me wake up. By the wrinkled tits of Nova Prime. 

The connection snaps like a rubber band. He sits in his bunk, trembling in a cold sweat.  
This was a stupid fucking idea. What on earth was he thinking? He eyes the blister pack, but doesn't reach for it.

\----

The second day passes in a haze. He eats mechanically, he reads a book he's saved on his pad. There's no web out here. He tries to jerk off, but it goes nowhere. He ends up lying with a hand over his rabbiting heart, wondering how many beats it has left.

By the afternoon, he's sitting bare-assed in the plush white leather pilot chair, because fuck you, club kid, that's why. 

His bony legs are propped on the console, and he's staring at the ocean far below. It's building tall castle-like structures from itself and tearing them down again. It's soothing. He feels as empty-headed as a maintenance bot. 

"Aw, -Beasties-! You remembered!"

Kraglin nearly falls out of the chair in shock.

Instead he swivels it so fast he has to plant his heels on the grating to stop it doing a 360 degree turn. He stares at the man leaning on the doorway, picking through a box of wriggling critters for the fattest ones. 

His eyes are iced over. 

Lumpy blue blood and lung tissue leaks from his mouth when he speaks. 

The hand holding the box has knuckles cracked so deep you see bone. 

Yondu looks down at Kraglin's state of dress, or lack thereof. He raises a hairless  
brow, runs his swollen tongue over an eyetooth. 

"Well, that sure is some welcome", he says and leers. 

\----

Kraglin slams his eyes shut and covers them with his palms for good measure. But that leaves him no cover for his ears.

He hears the muffled thunk of something being placed on the floor, the rustle of a coat, the clunk of boots and then the sound of a body sinking to its knees before him. He twitches at the touch of freezing leather against his bare skin. 

"M'sorry", he hears. "I didn't mean to upset ya. Hey. "

And it's not so cold anymore. There's warm hands over his, prying them away. He keeps his eyes scrunched up. 

There's rough straps digging into the sensitive inside of his thighs and snagging on his chest hair. 

There's a slow heartbeat he feels through his own ribs. 

There's bad breath against his neck and arms round his back, pulling him half off the stupid chair into a bear hug. 

He can feel the hard edge of the implant and he knows, he -knows- all of this is dust between the stars, but it's also right here. 

He can't breathe properly, it's all shallow and erratic. He doesn't dare open his eyes. The world has tilted upright again and everything will be ok. 

 

\--

There are little things. Yondu's clothes have no zippers, so they have to cut him out of them. Some of his scars are missing. He's kinder and more physically affectionate than he should be, more like Kraglin's embarrasing daydreams than the genuine, foul-tempered article. 

Kraglin doesn't give a shit. 

.....

Not when he's ridden within an inch of his life. Not when there's a solid body plastered to his back, a cock up his arse and teeth sunk so deep in that good spot at the base of his neck that there's blood dripping on the sheets. Not when he can bend Yondu's leg to his chest until he gets with the program and holds himself open, while Kraglin eats him out. 

\------

In the end, he lies flat on his back with Yondu on top of him, weighing him down deliciously. 

They're not fucking, not really, just rubbing off onto each other. It's the third or fourth time. Yondu's doing these hard, quick little snaps with his hips, those that feel so damn good when he's inside Kraglin. 

Kraglin's got his long legs crossed at the ankles at the small of Yondu's back, urging him on. His neck is bent uncomfortably where he's been pushed up against the headboard. He can't use his arms to brace against it, because Yondu's gripping his wrists so hard his fingers curl all by themselves. It's perfect. 

"Perfect", he gasps into Yondus' mouth. "Uh, fuck, just like that. Yeah."

Yondu lets go of Kraglins' wrists, only to wrap one strong, calloused hand around his throat. He sits up, locks his elbow and puts some weight on it. Kraglin cuts off halfway through a moan. He gives a tiny nod. 

Yondu lets up, allows Kraglin to suck in a glorious breath, and then he's back. Rinse, repeat, with longer and longer periods without breath, while Yondu strokes them both in his other hand, stilling whenever Kraglin is allowed air. 

It's maddening. Pretty soon, he's wasting all his air-time on begging Yondu to not stop, to go faster, harder. Let him come. Le-

And he's under again, where there's nothing in the world but the hand closing his throat and the hand stripping his dick. Until the first lets up but not the second, and he screams and comes hard. 

"Hottest fucking thing I seen", Yondu rasps in his ear. He lies down on top of him again and grinds his hips, rubbing against Kraglins' oversensitive dick. It's uncomfortable, bordering on painful. Kraglin loves it. 

He digs his bony thumbs in on either side of the broad, twisted scar, where Yondu's crest once flowed down his back. There are nerve endings there, still, deeper than any scalpels, electro-saws and wire cutters could reach. 

Kraglin pulls down, all the way to the flexing globes of Yondu's ass, and watches him arch like a cat and spill between them. 

 

\---

He gets up, sweat-soaked and spaghetti-legged and grinning like a fool. There's a few ration bars and bottles of water left, and he grabs one of each and returns to bed. Yondu puts his nose up at the water, but takes a bite of ration bar. He chews it slowly, frowning. 

"Don't taste like nothing", he says with his mouth full. "Used'ta at least taste like shit". 

Then he leans over, grabs Kraglin by the back of the neck and feeds him the whole saliva-slick mess with his tongue. 

It's utterly revolting. Kraglin's gagging on the wad, and he's hard as nails again. Because this is Centaurian mating behaviour, and Yondu only ever done it to him once; that time Kraglin nearly died. Fed him raw meat then, right there in the medbay with the doctor watching. So ration bar is a step up flavour- and safety-wise, but it's the sentiment that counts. "I love you" is kind of trite in comparision. 

Kraglin eats the whole bar, bite by secondhand bite. In the end they're just kissing. 

 

\------

"Come with me", he says. "Please"

"You know I ain't real. Ain't him really."

"Don't care. Can't go 'round like that again. I ain't livin' by myself. Please."

"Won't leave this place, you know that. There's nobody here. Just you and an ocean, dreamin'"

Kraglin's full-body shaking now, clinging like a baby. "Please", he says again, like that makes a lick of difference, like the universe cares what one skinny little Xandarian of a trillion needs. 

The universe, as always, turns a deaf ear. 

"Here" He shoves the pills in Yondus' hand. 

"Feed me again. You..you just need one'a them, they're the good stuff. Let me stay."

Yondu examines the blister pack. It's standard light green, tiny white pills rattling around in their plastic cells. Looks like nothing special. But if you turn them over there's a slogan? Poem? of some suicide cult written across the back. Lil' picture of a kawaii cartoon Lady Death too. Classy. They're illegal as hell. 

"Y'sure?" he says.

"Yeah. Yes sir. I'm. I'm sure."

Yondu pops one of the blisters. The little pill rolls out in his palm. It seems about as dangerous as a hangover med. He bends, scoops it into his cheek. Runs his thumb under Kraglins' left eye, smearing wetness neither cares to mention. 

"C'mere"

Kraglin closes his eyes and accepts the kiss. 

Opens them again when he's fed nothing but a slip of tongue. 

"Wha..?", he begins to say, and Yondu pulls back, gives him a fond look and headbutts him as hard as he can. 

\------

Surprisingly, it hurts like a bitch. Kraglin is out, though. 

"Fuck", he says, clutching his skull. "You scumsuckin' idiot. The hell made ya think I'd kill ya?"

Kraglin doesn't answer, just lies in a sprawl half on, half off the bed like a tossed stick figure. Yondu lifts him onto it properly, tucks him in and lurches toward the control room, still holding his head like it might fall off. 

Turning the signature and the comms back on is easy. Sending a message is impossible. Apparently, machinery can't pick up his voice. And even if it could, he doubts anyone at the recieving end would be able to hear it. Seems he's tailor-made for Kraglin only. 

Finally, he settles for dialing his boy and sending them a screeching round of feedback on repeat. Oughta wake them up. 

He revvs the pathetic excuse for engines and sets a course for the nearest jump point. The ship takes off at a leasurely pace, like a dainty little lady going for a Sunday stroll in the park. Yondu sneers at it in disgust, flicks the autopilot on and goes back to check on Kraglin. 

\----

Yondu sits on the floor, arms around his knees, watching Kraglin sleep. The ship inches away from Solaris, slow and steady. 

He's starting to feel fuzzy around the edges, like a sliver of soap dissolving in hot water. There's a calm contentment stealing over him, like nothing he's ever felt before, apart from maybe in his father's pouch. 

Other voices are rising within him. It's everyone who's ever visited, and everyone they've remembered. He contains them all. He's them and they're him and they're one. He's Kraglin, too, because he has his memories. 

That's good. If anyone deserves to be saved into whatever they all are, it's him. He'll keep this man in him until the end of the multiverse, and then the seed that is Solaris will grow. 

How wonderful! he thinks, smiling. How beauti

 

\----

Kraglin wants to throw up. His head hurts and his vision swims. 

"Yondu, what the hell?", he groans, trying to figure out which way is up so he can crawl to a bucket. 

The figure in a long coat before him is too big. He squints at it. It wears a mask. 

"Huh?", says Peter, confused.


End file.
